#no one wants to be touched that much in real life. RIGHT??????

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

[littlelamy]

with rafe

a/n: SPOILER for S4; rafe x pogue!reader; if you haven’t seen s4 yet and don’t want spoilers please do not read it !!! i wanted to post it tomorrow but i love it so much so I’m posting today!

proposal with rafe

The sun casts a golden glow across the water as Barry’s boat floats in the middle of the water while a determined rafe zooms on his jetski to shore. He swings a leg off the jet ski, wading through the shallow waves as he makes his way to where you’re sitting under a tree, your gaze meeting his. There’s something different in his eyes—a softness, maybe even a hint of vulnerability, and you feel your pulse quicken as he reaches for your hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Come sit with me,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady, leading you to a spot beneath the shade. His expression is so uncharacteristically tender, it leaves you feeling both anxious and curious. He takes a deep breath, as if summoning the courage for something important.

“Before I... before I take off, I wanted to say something,” he says, his eyes searching yours, his tone holding a weight that makes your heart race. Confused but drawn in, you nod, watching as he sinks down on one knee before you, reaching into his pocket to pull out a beautiful diamond ring. The delicate silver band catches the light, and you see his hand tremble slightly as he holds it out, a touch of vulnerability showing through.

“It was my mom’s,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a softness that you rarely hear. "Been in the family forever, so I know that's some Kook bullshit, but I..." His gaze holds yours, a gentle warmth shining through. “I just wanted to you to have it, before I...I left, so you know that we're real.”

Your heart swells, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his eyes and the gesture that feels so intimate, so unexpected. You nod, a smile breaking across your face, and the weight of his love wraps around you as he slides the ring onto your finger with a tenderness that takes your breath away.

Your heart still pumping fast at his words as warmth spreads through you as he steps forward and sweeps you into his arms, holding you close as his lips find yours. His kiss is deep and passionate, filled with longing and the intensity he’s been holding back. He groans softly, pressing you closer, and you feel the weight of his emotions as you loop your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. He pulls you deeper into the kiss, as if it’s his way of saying everything he can’t put into words.

He pulls away smiling at your now heavy finger, his thumb brushing over your hand before he reaches into his pocket again and pulls out his keys. He holds them out to you, his fingers brushing yours as he places them into your palm.

“I want you…” he starts, his voice husky with feeling, “…I want you to quit your job, and I want…I want you to move in with me.” He pulls you in again with a even more passionate (if it’s even possible) kiss that makes your knees buckle. "Now we got that sorted," Rafe says laughing with the biggest smile as he pulls away from the kiss.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks, all right? Here. Stay at my…..Stay at our place.” He presses the keys into your hand with a firm but gentle insistence. As he pulls back his hands, he rests his forehead against yours, smiling, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you,” he says softly, pressing a final kiss to your forehead, then lips before stepping away. He pauses, looking back at you one last time, his eyes holding a promise, a warmth that leaves you feeling like the luckiest person in the world as he steps back onto his jet ski.

As he starts up the engine and disappears across the water, you’re left with the keys, the ring, and the weight of his words—feeling the love and commitment he’s offering, and the life he wants to build with you.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @wniektty

[rewindall]

the way I haven't opened any socials since brazil because I KNOW the hate will be vile and as someone who's seen him go through these hate cycles since pretty much the beginning of his entire f1 career, I just don't want to see any more of those posts.

It's just a sport. People win, people lose, that's life sometimes. I've watched enough cricket as a kid growing up in south asia to know how passionate people are about sports. I get it. I've seen TVs set on fire just because our teams didn't win the world cup. You're allowed to air your feelings. but what is not okay is piling your opinions on people who are very real and very affected by your words.

As fans, we don't even know a fraction of the world that these people live in. There's so much more to them, and their lives, than the media content you watch lets on. You don't know these people.

Let me say that again: You don't know these people.

And it's never okay to send out so much hate to people you dont even know.

No one's asking you to turn into a lando fan suddenly. You don't have to like everythign he does or says or stands for. Still doesn't give you the right to spread this vitriol on the internet. If every time you went out, 15 people you never knew said shitty stuff to you in the span of half an hour, it would take a toll on you.

Max was a monster in brazil, that drive was a masterclass. There's a reason they call him the best in the business, and he reminded everyone of it while also securing his championship. Good for him.

But Lando has done so much. In one season he's gone from having zero wins to a championship contender and fuck am I proud of him for that. He's had his first win this season, one we're all incredibly proud of him for, and already he's in the fight at the top. and that's mega. Honestly, even if he stays second and wins vice champion that would be amazing and I'll be proud of him, if Charles takes over in the standings and he drops to third I will still be a Lando fan because I've watched this man start his career in f1 as a 19 year old kid, and grow into this powerhouse that he is in formula one today.

So please, go out, touch some grass. Sit with your friends, tell your family you love them. Make memories with people you cherish, because we're all only here for so long. Stop wasting your time being a container of hatred and vitriol, letting all that negativity seep into yourself, just so you can hurt someone that you don't even know, someone who doesn't even know you exist. Instead, be better for the people you know, for the people who love you.

You know what's funny? Lando never even properly said that he was a championship contender. The only championship he ever spoke about was the constructors, the F1 media pushed him into this fight.

The way some people act on here you would think he said at some point that he would be champion no questions asked but he hasn't, he was always pessimistic about the gap.

My brand is and always will be that the tax evading millionaires are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves but damn I feel like we are crossing some lines with Lando now. The man can't even open his mouth without fans of almost every driver on the grid starts dogpiling on him. You hear one out of context sentence from an interview and just run with it only to find out that he didn't call Max' win lucky. (But you don't correct your post because why would you, Lando probably deserved the hate for one reason or another right?) You see team orders happen and call him unworthy without considering that every champion on the current grid has benefited from team orders. (But it's OK because Lando is so fucking annoying anyways right?)

Idk if it's because I have been part of many fandoms where things have escalated to the point of no return and that's why I get scared when I see this level of piling on someone but I genuinely feel like we have reached an unreasonable point now.

[remlionheart]

Dazai with a reader who got a HUGE oral kink, like they just cant stop giving him oral

₊ ⊹MDNI₊ ⊹

ft. whiney, whimpering, overstimulated dazai :(((

Dazai had little to no self control when it came to most things in life, but especially when it involved the feeling of your soft lips wrapped around his overly sensitive tip. The content little hums you'd let out in between breaths while you flattened your tongue and ran it faithfully up his length for the third time in only a few hours.

"Oh - fuck, fuck... fuck." He groaned, teetering on the verge of overstimulation. He wasn't sure what he'd done to get so lucky. Wasn't sure what he'd ever done so right to deserve a girl that loved to devour him the way that you did, but god damn, was he thankful to whatever divine intervention had led him to you.

Every time he thought there was no possible way he had another drop of cum left to spare, you somehow always managed to coax it out of him anyway.

“Angel,” he nearly whimpered, little tremors hitting his slender body in waves, making his legs shake against the firm grasp of your palm. “I’m - mmm, so… sens...itive - hah-”

His breathy obscenities went straight to your center, making you all the more determined to take him in deeper. A mixture of guttural moans and lewd slurping filled the room as you continued to grind against his leg. Your clit desperately searching for friction while your hand and mouth worked in perfect synchronicity against him.

“You want me to stop?" You asked, batting your eyes up at him through heavy lashes. You already knew the answer from how feverishly he kept thrusting into you though, his tip hitting the back of your throat in a way that slurred and strained your words. "All you have to do... is - tell me to stop... and I will...."

His mind was on fire - stuck somewhere between wanting you to go slower and faster. Easier and harder. "S'too much, angel" and "Don't you dare fucking stop."

He was delirious, spilling out the prettiest, whiniest noises as his long fingers tangled into your hair while he watched you. His mouth dropping open in awe. "I can take it." He gritted out, not ready to pull himself away from the salacious warmth your tongue was gracing him with. "I can take it. Keep going."

It was cute, how hard he tried to seem in control while being at the mercy of your touch.

"I just want one more," your voice was velvet across his tender skin, pleasure mixing with pain as you let out the softest demands. "You're doing so good," you praised, noting the way his eyes had began to roll back. "Good boy, just like that."

Having two switches in a relationship could be a real problem sometimes - neither one of you easily willing to submit to the other. It was a competition almost in the way that you'd both fight for dominance, but today - oh today, you had him right where you wanted him. Even if he wanted to deny it, he couldn't. Not with the way he was writhing under you and whimpering out your name in the neediest voice you'd ever heard from him. Cock twitching when the words, "good boy" left your mouth.

"Give me one more, baby. Just one more." You let the spit that you'd gathered up pool down over his shaft as your hollowed out your cheeks to take him in further, trying not to smile at the way his hips bucked up towards you. His grip tightening in your hair as more incoherent little nothings echoed out into the space between you. "Yeah, there you go. Look at you, you're so close."

"I'm -" he struggled, his pretty brown eyes nearly watering from how overwhelmed his senses were. "Fuck” he hissed. “I’m gonna -”

Your stare locked with his, a wicked smile splitting across your face as his release coated the back of your throat. Cum leaking graciously down your chin as you swallowed every last drop you could before placing a light kiss on his tip, admiring how swollen and perfectly pink it was.

He wasn’t sure if it was an angel or the devil himself that had brought you into his life with the beautifully depraved way you were looking back at him, but either way - he was fucking thankful.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[petew21-blog]

An apple a day...

21st January 2021

Dr. Mikhail Varshavski, or how many people know him - Doctor Mike, is a famous succesful physician and an influencer making money out of his YouTube videos etc. Still taking a bit of his time to examine patients between his videos and interviews.

But today an elderly patient was suppse to come for a visit. Mikhail decided to make it a tv spot where the satisfied patient would come to the hospital and thanked him for treating him.

The patient's name was Arnold Jefferson, a 71 year old man suffering many conditions, such as diabetes, arthritis, hypertension and many many more. Quite common in older people.

Mr. Jefferson arrived an unaware of the upcoming spotilight was greeted by am assistant and led to a room with cameras.

Mr. Jefferson:"I was supposed to come for a vistit with Dr. Varshavski."

Assistant:"Doctor Mike wants to speak to you in front of the camera if that's ok? I am sure you have already signed multiple forms considering your privacy, while in his care. So we won't keep you long and I will go get doctor Mike."

Mr. Jefferson looked around confused. He came for a one on one dialogue, not an interview. He had no interest in all of this.

Docotr Mike arrived to the room. His hair ready, wearing his best scrubs that were ironed that day.

Mikhail:"Good morning, Mr. Jefferson. How are we feeling today?"

Mr. Jefferson:"Good morning. I.. well just as I normally do." he spoke nervously, looking at the cameras and the crew.

Mikhail spoke loudly for the microphone above them to hear and smiled way more than usual. "Amazing. We will do a standard check up and then we will take a look at your blood tests together. Is that ok?"

Mr. Jefferson nodded and was then examined in front of the camera. But they also did many photos where they were wearing masks and touched each other with elbows just to prove how safe they were while handling the ongoing pandemic.

He felt uncomfortable. "Could I please be examined alone for the part where I get to undress?"

The smile from doctor Mike's face disappeared. "Sure. Yeah. Can all of you from the crew go and take 5? Thank you. We will finish with Mr. Jefferson quickly.

The crew left and Dr. Mike was left alone with the patient.

Mr. Jefferson:"You complicated things for me, you know? I would have done this much sooner."

Doctor Mike had his stethoscope in his ears listening to Mr. Jefferson's heart. "What do you mean by that?" he said confused by what the patient said.

Mr. Jefferson placed his hands on Dr. Mike's head. "This". Flashes of lights shined between the two of them. Mikhail wanted to run away, but the force from Mr. Jefferson's hands was so strong. He couldn't let go.

Mikhail's eyes closed by themselves. He didn't see anything.

The first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was his reflection. Nothing unusual. He saw his face everyday in the mirror. But he felt anxious as soon as his body started moving on his own and flexed.

His body spoke out loud:"Oh my. It feels great to be this young again. It seems you take a great care for your body, Mikhail. Or I should say Arnold now."

Mikhail was in disbelief. What was happening? Is this all real?. "What did you do to me?"

Arnold:"I didn't hear that question for a very long time now. It will be easier to show you." he handed him the mirror. In the reflection was the same old man that he trested seconds ago. He touched his face and the reflection did the same.

Mikhail:"How are you doing this?"

Arnold:"Couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. I am honestly not sure."

Mikhail:"Why me? I am a doctor. I am not someone you should steal life away from."

Arnold:"You almost answered your question. If I don't have the right to do that then why should you? Remember my wife you treated? How you misdiagnosed her?"

Mikhail:"This is medicine. Mistakes can happen. It's not an exact science. Sometimes we don't have the power to save everyone."

Arnold:"Maybe. But my wife was special, like me, you know. We did the same thing I just did for you for almost a century. But we fell in love with the life that these bodies had. The love they had for each other, the family. We even had a new young couple found to move over to, but you just had to fuck it up. So... let my face be a constant reminder of what you messed up."

Mikhail:"You can't do this. No one will believe you. Everyone will find out. I will tell them."

Arnold:"Yeah, not really my concern. Whenever one of you does this, they end up in a mental hospital. So I guess it's up to you now, if you want to finish the shooting quietly or get a quick ticket for mental hospital for the short rest of your life you have left. So what's it gonna be?"

They finished the spot and Mikhail in Arnold's body was escorted out of the hospital. He was old now. His body ached. Every step he took was like a needle. He was picked up by one of his family members. He had no idea who it was. His son? Grandson? Maybe they'll know more about the swapping. Maybe the clues will be inside the house. Or maybe none at all.

18th February 2021

Mikhail sat in his new arm chair and held a mug in his hands. It has been almost a month since he lost his body.

One of his grandsons played with a tablet next to him.

Mikhail:"What are you doing there, Joe?"

Joe:"You wouldn't understand, grandpa."

Mikhail:"Maybe I would. How about you show me?"

Joe gave him initial instructions he would normally give Arnold, but Mikhail already knew all of this and confidently asked for him to put up YouTube.

Joe was surprised that his grandpa now knew all this, but he did what grandpa asked him to do.

They found Doctor Mike's channel. There was only one new video from the last time that Mikhail has posted anything.

The video had a bad quality. The one who edited the video was definitely an amateur.

The name of the video was: Why I decided to quit medicine

Mikhail froze. His life was all about being in the medical field. And now Arnold ruined it all.

He played the video. Arnold seemed very happy with his new body, because he kept touching his arms, his pecs and hair even while talking about how unsatisfied he became while working as a doctor.

Mikhail took the tablet and searched for more information about his old body. He found information about a lawsuit for malpractice, that the new doctor Mike how faced.

But something kuch worse caught his attention. An Only Fans account.

Mikhail left the room with the tablet and his grandson screaming behind him. But he didn't care about that now. He opened the page and immediately subscribed while entering his credit card info.

The page unlocked.

Mikhail had tears in his eyes. There were videos of his old body pleasuring himself, embarassing himself, pleasuring others...

All of that for a bit of money from horny peopl, that wanted to see the famous doctor.

Mikhail decided to send a message that cost extra money.

He sat there for a while and thought about what it would say.

"Dear, doctor Mike. Or maybe you still remember your old name, Arnold. I wanted to say something mean about you ruining my life. But after watching the videos, I have to say I miss my body. Even though I would want it back I don't expect you'd give it like that for free. But maybe you could let me enjoy that body once again from someone else's view? What do you think? It might get a lot of views.

Sincerley,

Dr. Mike Arnold Jefferson"

On the other side of the screen sat Arnold in front of the computer, his dick hard. Reading the message from his old body.

"This might be interesting" he said, grinning mischievously.

Two woman called out behind him from the bed:"Coming to bed, honey?"

Arnold smiled and turned around. "Ready for round three?"

Anonymous request from inbox

Could you please write a body swap story where an elderly patient steals Dr. Mike’s body when he is seen by him for a visit?

[rikosseen]

James Lee/DG x Reader: Touch

Anon request

DG is extremely good looking. He knows that above all things. Especially with the way his fans fawn over him. That, and because both his appearance, and self presentation account for a great percentage of his career. People are smitten by him. It’s the one asset he adores to show off. And, well, Diego has plenty to show off. He has an extraordinary talent for exceeding all that he sets his mind to. A prodigy, a genius, if you will. However, nothing had ever stuck with him, or gave him the contentment he had so desperately searched and longed for.

As his own expression matches your wide grin, he can’t help but pin the bane of his pride on not himself, but you. Yes, DG is quite honestly very humble. He’s someone with a significant other to cherish and smile up at.

The idol opens his arms, waiting for your body to slam into his.

“JIMMMMYY!!” you shout, running toward him.

DG’s mouth twitches at the ridiculous nickname, but he doesn’t budge until you snuggle your face into his chest. He gently strokes your hair, and rubs the trickle of sweat going down your neck.

“Did you see that?”

He responds by humming, and you tighten your grip on him, unable to contain the joy from winning yet another race. There’s just something so thrilling about him flaunting and betting on your success that makes you want to kick your feet.

“Let’s go grab some food,” you say, slapping his ass and skipping in front of him.

DG shakes his head, and takes out the keys to his bike from his pocket. You stop when you realise he’s not following behind you.

“HURRY UP!”

He slows down, grinning lazily. Is this guy for real? With a heavy huff, you walk back to link arms with him, and pinch the side of his stomach so that he moves. Diego mocks a hurt look, but you honestly doubt this man’s ability to get hurt.

No remorse for little rats like him.

.

.

After bantering about whether to use his bike or your car, and James begrudgingly standing in the middle of the parking lot like a 5 year old, you accept your defeat by sitting on his ride. Jimmy boy lets out an amused grunt at his childish success, and tugs you closer to him with a swift motion of his hands on your thighs.

Ugh.

You instantly fold at his touch, and lean onto him, basking in the scent of his cologne. God, this man. The things he does to you.

All night, all day for sure.

You squeeze him tighter, and slowly allow your hands to slip under his shirt. Oops. Although your clinginess to James wasn’t uncommon, the intimate action still catches him off guard, and he twitches under your touch. As he swerves right, you trace the outline of his abdomen, stopping just above the area where his hips dip. To which Jimmy Boy squirms at.

The man is clutching onto his bike handles for dear life as he makes another turn. His ears are red, and he’s excessively sweating underneath his helmet. One would think that it’d take so much more to fluster James Lee. But no. The man, although very charming, had never really had any contact with anyone like this. Save for head pats to Daniel Park, the only sort of touch he was accustomed to was that relating to violence.

It’s not like James was complaining either. He didn’t hate what you were doing. So, like the nonchalant king that he is, Diego Kang just grunts until the two of you reach a nice, cozy, restaurant.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

You're Still Here

Jason Todd x reader

Fluff

Warnings: none

-----------------------------

The night was quiet in Jason's apartment, the usual hum of the bustling city just outside these four walls replaced by the soft sound of a movie starting up. Jason was sat on the couch, looking as brooding as ever. But there was something different tonight. Instead of his usual solitary routine or rough training, he’d agreed to something... well, normal. A movie night. With you.

It had taken some convincing, of course. Jason was never one for downtime, especially not with the weight of his past bearing down on him. But tonight, he’d finally relented, mostly because you’d promised a movie marathon of his favorite action flicks—no Batman, no vigilante-related anything, just pure explosions and one-liners.

“Alright, what are we watching first?” you asked, settling beside him on the couch. You’d picked up some snacks on your way to his place—popcorn, candy, and soda—all the essentials for a perfect movie night.

Jason grunted in response, more focused on the TV screen than you, but you could tell he was at least trying. His eyes flickered in your direction briefly, as if testing the waters, but he said nothing. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy spending time with you, but... well, Jason wasn’t used to this kind of thing. Casual, relaxing fun. He was far more familiar with the dark corners of Gotham and the cold silence of a lonely night patrol.

You selected the first movie—a mindless action film, the kind with ridiculous stunts and no real plot, just chaos. It was perfect for a night like this.

Jason shifted slightly, his usual posture of stiff tension not quite as rigid tonight. Still, his body language told you there was something on his mind. You’d seen it before—the way he avoided certain touches, how he flinched at unexpected moments. It wasn’t hard to guess what was bothering him, though.

The autopsy scar. That damn scar.

You knew it wasn't just a mark on his body; it was a constant reminder of the worst night of his life. A scar that came with memories of betrayal, death, and resurrection. No matter how much Jason tried to cover it up, you could see the way he shifted uneasily whenever his sleeve was pushed up or when his shirt clung too tightly to his skin. It wasn’t the scar that bothered him so much as what it represented—the brutality of his death, the pain of being discarded and forgotten.

You nudged him gently with your elbow. “Hey, want some popcorn?” you asked, your voice casual, as if the two of you had done this a hundred times before. Jason didn’t answer right away, but you could feel the slight movement of his shoulder as he leaned just a little bit closer. His hand hovered over the bowl of popcorn for a second, fingers brushing against yours before he pulled away.

The touch was so brief, so subtle, but you caught it. It was enough to remind you of just how fragile Jason’s comfort zone really was. He wasn’t the type to openly talk about his insecurities, let alone face them head-on. But tonight... Tonight you had to hope that maybe, just maybe, he could be open with you. At least for a little while.

“Jason,” you said softly, “you know you don’t have to hide anything, right? You’re not... you’re not broken.”

He stiffened, just a little. You saw the way his jaw tightened, the usual tough guy mask slipping into place. But you pushed on, not letting him retreat.

“It’s just us here,” you continued, “and I’m not going anywhere. If you want to talk about it—or not talk about it—that’s fine. But you don’t have to pretend everything’s okay when it’s not.”

Jason’s gaze flickered toward you, his eyes dark and unreadable. His lips pressed into a thin line as he fought with whatever emotions were swirling inside him. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a deep, frustrated exhale, he spoke.

“It's just… it’s hard, alright?” His voice was raw, quiet. “Every time I look in the mirror, all I see is that damn scar. It’s like a mark, like... I’m still dead somehow.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached out and took his hand in yours. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but the softness of your touch spoke louder than words could. You didn’t need to say that you understood; you didn’t need to tell him that you’d never see him as broken. You just let your presence be enough.

Jason looked down at your hand, a scar on his arm exposed for just a second before he quickly pulled his sleeve down to hide it. The quick motion was subtle but telling. He was trying to hide from you... and maybe from himself.

But you didn’t pull away. You stayed close, letting the silence stretch between you for a few beats. Then you smiled, your voice gentle but firm.

“You’re still here, Jason,” you said softly. “You’re still alive. And you’re... you’re still you. And that scar? It’s a part of who you are, but it doesn’t define you.”

His eyes flickered toward you again, unsure, as if testing the sincerity in your words. For a second, you weren’t sure if he would pull back again, if the walls he’d built around himself would rise back up.

But instead, Jason exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders dissipate just a little. The tightness around his jaw softened, and though he didn’t speak, his gaze lingered on you—just a little longer than before.

The movie played on, and for once, neither of you were entirely lost in the screen. There was a quiet understanding between you now. You hadn’t cured all of Jason’s demons, but you’d given him something he didn’t know he needed. A safe space. A place where, for tonight, the scar didn’t matter.

And that, you hoped, was a start.

[otheredsam]

1x06 skin provides us with so much insight into dean’s perspective he has always been a big weirdo!! and a freak u guys.

SHAPESHIFTER: It’s funny. I kind of understand him. He’s all alone—close to no one. All he wants is for someone to love him. He’s like me. (REBECCA looks very uncomfortable.) You know, everybody needs a little human touch now and then. It’s so hard to be different.

it is fascinating to me that the shapeshifter is used as a foil for dean. because usually we only get parallels between sam and the ‘monsters’ to other him. if sam is both the subject and the other, what is dean? he felt hopeless from the start and his fear of being alone AND his fear of sam being ‘impure’ - these were the biggest catalysts for the main plot. fear not action. and i think that’s why kripke’s s5 ending makes so much sense because dean has to give up this fear of being alone and sam being corrupted.

SHAPESHIFTER: I am your brother. See, deep down, I'm just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I'm a freak. And sooner or later, everybody's gonna leave me. [backs away]

the biggest difference between him & sam in season 1 is complacency. his submissiveness towards their dad (the OG architect of their life) & ‘roll over & die’ attitude is striking from the beginning and only gets worse.

another thing i missed is how much refuge he seeks in killing and violence right from the start! he finds genuine comfort in it unlike sam. see below

DEAN: I hate to say it, but that's exactly what I'm talking about. You lied to your friends because if they knew the real you, they'd be freaked. It's just... it'll be easier if...

SAM: If I was like you.

DEAN: Hey, man, like it or not, we are not like other people. But I'll tell you one thing. This whole gig, [takes out gun] it ain't without perks.

DEAN: Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a freak.

it’s a lil sick but sexy how dean keeps reiterating we’re freaks, we’re so different, it’s us, you only have me and i only have you. there is a bit of possessiveness & an urge to keep sam away from the rest of the world. maybe out of fear of him leaving dean again. it feels like: no one will understand you like i do. which is true in a way. this is that delish subtext they sprinkled.

SAM: Yeah, thanks.

DEAN: Well, I’m a freak, too. I’m right there with ya, all the way. (SAM laughs.)

SAM: Yeah, I know you are.

pretty much sums up the entire freak show <3

dean placing his claim on sam and establishing that they are cursed and separate from society/the norm/civilisation

[woman-respecter]

Chronically single liberal straight woman in a deep red state here...I've been functionally on a dating/sex strike for years because I refuse to lower my standards, there's no way I'm touching a republican, and all the good democrat men I meet are not single or are gay. (I know that sounds so trite and cliche but it's the reality where I live.) I had a real long dark night of the soul after Roe fell and i realized that the vast majority of my state doesn't recognize my personhood (but I refuse to leave my state because I refuse to cede any ground to these people who would love to see me retreat). Reading about the gender gap in voting these past few weeks wasn't really the final nail in the coffin of my hope of ever settling down with a long term romantic/sexual partner, it's more like the coffin was already in the ground and all of this was just the dirt being piled on top by the handful. So it's fine. Again functionally my life won't be different than it has been if I commit to never dating again. I have plenty of love in my life from family and friends. I own my own house, I'm a valued asset at work, and I trust my father and my brothers to advocate for me if I find myself in a political situation where I need them to, so I'll be okay. I have no qualms about telling people, when they ask me why I'm still single, that I do not trust men as a class and don't want to waste my precious years on earth looking through all the trash for a good one. I'd really appreciate it if fellow single straight women would get on this level with me instead of self-flagellating for simply being better off alone.

thank you for sharing this! i think you made the right choice and there is so much going for you (and all other women) without a relationship with a man who doesn’t respect you

[deathbxnny]

hii, wriothesley and neuvilette with a criminal teen!reader?

reader actually dislikes doing said crimes and is really afraid of adults

Genshin Men with a criminal Teen!Reader. | Neuvillette, Wriothesley x Gn!Teen!Reader

Hey dear Anon! Sorry for the late response, but thank you so much for your request, and I hope you'll like this!!<33

Content: Reader is a teen, platonic relationships, vague mentions of crimes, slight angst, fatherly relationship with reader, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》NEUVILLETTE

He had seen many kids like you. Kids that have found themselves in bad circumstances and therefore had to do things that they knew were morally wrong. You were no different, and yet there was something about you that felt off. You understood what you had done and, in fact, even went as far as turning yourself in. You hated the crimes you've committed as a result of your dire circumstances, and that alone is what caused him to stare at you in thought and wonder whilst you were taken away. You were afraid of the adults that surrounded you, crying and screaming for them to let you go, and so he stepped in to bring you to the fortress himself.

He often visited you after that and gained your trust through learning what led you to this point in your young life. In a way, you taught him more about the complexities of human life and the tragedy that can befall them even early on. Neuvillette taught you to be less afraid of adults and instead find the one's you can trust and idealize for a better future, which led him to secretly become exactly that for you.

Neuvillette essentially watches and supports you from afar, a tinge of pride in his heart when he sees you slowly regain control over your life and accept the rehabilitation provided by the prison. By the time you get out, he hopes to see you become a good person, yet never takes the credit for being the cause of it himself.

》WRIOTHESLEY

Wriothesley saw himself in you the moment you stepped out of the elevator doors. You were a kid, a very angry and afraid teen who didn't want to be touched by any of the guards, nor even Sigewinne for the mandatory checkup. You hated everything you've done that led you to this point, and you were vocal about it despite your fear of them. You still had a fire in you that was important to protect, and so he attempted to do that step by step. You still had a chance for a good life after this. You weren't as far gone as he was yet.

And so, he took you in under his wing. He was patient with you, as he listened to you either rant or complain about the other adults, including him. He taught you important life skills you'd need in the real word. He showed you what hard work was and what it meant, how rewarding it can be for one's soul when done right. He wanted to show you what an honest life could look like whilst also reminding you that your saddening start to life was not your fault. No one could control that and so you shouldn't have to worry about them either anymore. What mattered to him was that you saw a path forward and out of this place.

Ultimately, he hopes that once you get out of here, you'll lead a good and happy life somewhere far away. And even if you do forget about him in the process of it, he still believes that he did everything he could to instill the correct morals in you, that will grant you a carefree world of opportunities without him there next to you.

[detta-pica]

By the time they’ve arrived, they are both drenched in sweat. The humid heat clings like an evil, suffocating wet blanket. Suguru is still distracted with the case files, so Satoru manages to slip into the bathroom first for a quick shower. When he emerges, in boxers and a thin t-shirt, Suguru’s heart lodges in his throat. Normally, he’d be mesmerised by the glistening skin and droplets of water trickling from Satoru’s white hair. Now, Suguru can’t tear his eyes away from the scars marring Satoru’s right thigh, the side of his throat. Satoru, of course, catches him staring. “Hey--” “Sorry.” Suguru looks away. Horrifyingly, his eyes prickle with gathering tears. “Sorry. I’ll be right out.” He goes to brush past Satoru and into the bathroom. “No.” Satoru grabs him by the arm, jerks him back a step. “You don’t get to look at me like I’m fucking--I don’t know. Broken. Then run away! Stop being a coward and just--” “I’m sorry.” Suguru can’t make himself meet his gaze. It’s enough that he can taste Satoru’s too-hot caramel discomfort and burning pineapple hurt. “I’m trying. I know you’re--” He waves his free hand restlessly. “Okay. I know that.” “Great! So act like it.” “I don’t--it’s not as easy as just deciding to do that. For the longest two hours of my life, I thought you were dead, so--” “So you’re gonna treat me like I’m weak just because--” “No!” Suguru faces him, finally, sees the reddened skin around his eyes. He wants to shake Satoru until he sees reason, and he wants to kiss him until he forgets what it means to be hurt. Suguru gives into the urge to touch, curling his fingers in Satoru’s collar, knuckles brushing against scar tissue. “No. You’re the strongest person I know.” As if to prove Suguru’s point, Satoru bridges the gap between them for real, wrapping his hand around Suguru’s wrist, skin to skin. “It’s easier to be strong when you’re here to back me up.” Suguru almost gives in. Almost lets himself drown in those blue eyes, almost leans in to see whether Satoru’s aura tastes different right at its source. Suguru wants to cradle Satoru close and explain to him that Suguru’s trauma has nothing to do with who Satoru is as a person, and everything to do with the shit they’ve both gone through. That Suguru would love him weak, but hopes, for Satoru’s sake, to never know what that’s like. “I am here,” Suguru says instead. “Maybe I’m the one that’s weak, you ever thought of that? Since I haven’t been able to shake this like you have.” Satoru recoils a little, eyes round and wet. He doesn’t let go. “That’s stupid. It’s like you said--no one’s helping us with this shit. We’re on our own. But that’s fine, right? Who else would we need?” His hope is always so ephemeral, spun sugar melting into nothing on Suguru’s tongue in seconds. Suguru hates the world so much in this moment, he feels like it’s going to spill out of him and stain anyone who touches him. It’s a struggle to transfer the ugly feelings to his familiar, Dragon, and keep his aura free of whatever incriminating colours and shapes Satoru would be able to see. “Yeah,” Suguru says, meaning it. “We’ll handle it.”

A snippet from a prequel fic in the stsg witchcraft AU. I'm a little unsure about the characterisation here, but the AU is a softer one, without all the violence of canon, so hopefully it makes sense that Satoru and Suguru can't hide their feelings from each other/pretend their feelings away as easily as in the manga.

[middlingmay]

I come begging for some happy todcl headcanons bc I’d like to live in ur beautiful universe rather than my reality as an American 😭

I'm sorry, anon. I can't believe this has happened for a second time. Whilst I respect everyone's right to vote how they deem fit, I'll never understand their choice. Or how he was allowed to run in the first place.

Whilst where I live and our political parties certainly have their problems, I'm also living in a world with: workers rights including flexible working and a push against zero hour contracts and fire and rehire; tenants rights; buffer zones for abortion clinics; free period products; a push towards the Gender Recognition (Scotland) Bill; progress towards a circular, greener economy; the Muirburn Bill and protection for Raptor species; discussions on the Assisted Dying Bill; and free prescriptions and the NHS (which even in its worst and sorriest state, still gives me free healthcare). Scotland has a strong conservative bent as a society, there's no point pretending otherwise, and this absolutely includes misogyny, sectarianism out the wazoo and other religious intolerance and racism. But politically we are trying to expand rights, protection, and freedom of choices. Not restrict them.

But! That it not what you came to my inbox for! Happy TODCL headcanons, here we go:

We all know John likes to squeeze Gale's waist, but Gale likes to do it back just as much, if not more. He loves John's thickness. Not because it makes him feel small or anything, he just loves grabbing him and touching him and feeling something solid and soft and tangible under his hands. It makes John feel real to him, when he thought he was never going to get anything like their relationship in his life.

John often takes them on a drive just before sunset. He loves sitting there with the top down, Gale's head in his lap and his long legs dangling out the window, and watching the sun go down.

Crosby and Gale become keen penpals after Crosby moves away. He mentions Will in his letters sometimes, and Gale glares at those letters so hard, it's a miracle they don't burst into flame.

John is ticklish, but just on his feet. Gale discovers this when his hands gets too close in bed one day and next thing he knows he's blinking at the ceiling and John is peering over the edge of the bed at him, wide-eyed. Gale strategises how to make best use of this discovery.

Gale very quickly discovers he's got a lot of fantasies and a lot of thoughts that had just been waiting for the opportunity to come pouring out. John thinks he's going to have to guide Gale through the intimacy in their relationship but he surprisingly has to try to keep up with him.

I hope that at least makes you feel a little better anon. I have a bunch more but a lot of them are plot related and I don't want to give anything away.

[thislovintime]

Screenshot from the My Generation interview.

Seems apt to revisit these words on November 5, 2024...

“Peter, My name is Scott and I'm 37 years old. I was wondering, as you look back on your experience in the 1960's, how much of the political and social ideas of the youth movement and counter culture are still valid today and whether or not you feel the same about those ideas now as you did back then. Scott” “Dear Scott, I won't go nearly so far as to say that everything that came up in the 60's was valid, but as far as I'm concerned, the 60's were to what will come as Greece was to democracy. Remember that in the 60's the political officeholders had lost all touch with the needs of the nation…kind of like the Bush administration now. Back then the voice of the establishment, Life magazine, was discovered to have doctored photos falsely indicating that LSD caused chromosomal damage. That proved what we (then) kids already knew: that those at the top preached fair play and honesty, but had no more need to honor those concepts than what would give them the next dollar without too much trouble. We saw perfectly clearly that we were on our own, that no one in authority cared about us. Now, like any bunch of kids left to their own devices, some, many, went off the rails. Every false step by somebody walking around under the cloak of the liberal hippy 60's was used as a pretext for dissing the entire generation. Those of us who were truly interested in liberty, fraternity and equality, however, knew we were onto something good and real. What had been called democracy was, and to some extent still is, a pretext for wrapping the will of the greedy and aggressive in a mantle of public acquiescence. Now, the business of wresting power away from those who make a specialty of wielding it will be a long and protracted struggle, with a lot of setbacks along the way. The outlines of the new style of governance are only dimly perceivable, and won't become clear for a long time to come. In the meantime, our job is to practice the principles of fairness and service to the extent possible. One thing is clear: there is a much higher joy in service than there is in acquisition of wealth. (Remember that it isn't money that's the root of all evil, it's the love of money.) Hanging together in brother - and sisterhood is so happy-making you want to sing right out loud. Yeah, I feel the same about those ideas as I did then…in case you couldn't tell. heheheh, Peter” - Ask Peter Tork, 2008

[girlscience]

I have remembered why I don't like fanfic

[suntails]

I’m going to paint you a picture of modern communication, and how it is fundamentally broken.

Let’s look at one friend. You chat pretty much everyday, and mostly talk to this person on twitter and discord, with occasional tumblr DMs. That’s three places you talk. But that’s actually not true, because you also have each other’s priv twitters and talk there as well. That’s four. Now account for, let’s say, one post reply per account per person, in addition to your DMs. That’s eight. But that’s ALSO not true, because not only do you talk in discord DMs with each other, but you’re in a friend group server as well! And you talk in those channels together! That’s nine.

This is one friend.

Now look around you. How many friends, how many mutuals are you in contact with. A few, a handful, a dozen, more? How many accounts per person do you have, how many places can you send each other posts, devolve into separate topics and conversations? How many people text you as well. Friends, family, coworkers? What do you do day to day around catching up, what IRL commitments will rip you away long enough to let the pile build again?

I can’t do it. I cannot live an actual life in the real world and balance this much interaction, it’s crushing. I reply to a friend’s post because I’m interested in the subject, I want to have a discussion! I WANT to talk about it with them, but I immediately kick myself for adding another conversation to the pile. Day by day, I ignore messages for hours on end and watch mountains pile around me, to reply en masse at the end of the night to let the cycle repeat. I wake up to six discord DMs and as I clear the third, the first replies back again.

We weren’t meant to have thirty simultaneous conversations. We weren’t. And you know in your bones that the number isn’t an exaggeration.

[seventeendeer]

finally got around to giving carol and the end of the world a try and this is definitely the meanest possible takeaway from only having watched one episode, but christ it's really serving "chubby introvert brunettes are the most oppressed people in the world" right out the gate huh